


Time in a Bottle

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: If she could bottle it up, time, she would.
Relationships: Kelley O'Hara/Hope Solo
Kudos: 14





	Time in a Bottle

When Hope leaves the hospital, it’s just after six, and they’re sleeping, both of them.

Her wife and their son.

She kisses Kelley on the forehead, smiling at the way her partner turns into it, even as exhausted, as deeply asleep, as she is.

“I’m just going to go home, get changed and check in with your folks,” she says softly, though she knows Kelley probably won’t wake, won’t hear her.

“I’ll be back soon, love.”

And then she turns to the plastic bassinet where the baby was supposed to be sleeping, and begins to lower the little boy down into it.

He’s beautiful, this boy.

She hadn’t been able to put him down after his last feed, Kelley handing him over sleepily. So she’d spent the hours with the warm, light weight of him on her chest, in her arms.

As Kelley had done, three years ago now, when their daughter was born. When Hope had been in the bed, and Kelley too excited, too overcome to sleep.

She tugs the small cap down further over his tiny head, and smiles.

He looks like Kelley, and she’s certain he has her nose and mouth, with just a few features that could only have come from their donor.

The hair, for one, Hope thinks and rests a single finger, lightly, on the tightly wrapped bundle, feeling the tiny in and out of his breathing.

“Love you,” she whispers, the same prayer she made when she held him for the first time, just a few hours–his whole lifetime–ago.

—–

When she comes into the kitchen from the door that leads to the laundry room, and the garage beyond, Hope finds her mother-in-law cutting up fruit at the breakfast bar, her father-in-law working on the crossword puzzle and drinking coffee right next to her.

“Oh, Hope,” Karen says, and puts down the knife, coming around to pull her into a hug, “congratulations!”

And Dan steps up after Kelley’s mom lets her go, and Hope finds herself held tight in his arms before he pulls back and gives her a quick peck on the cheek.

“My first granddaughter and now my first grandson,” he tells her with a laugh, “no wonder you’re my favorite daughter-in-law. Do you want a cigar? I brought cigars.”

But Karen swats him on the arm before pulling Hope to sit, pouring her some coffee–not decaf, thank god–and making her a plate of fruit.

“So,” she says, “do you have more pictures? Is his hair really that red? Have you decided on a name?”

But her questions disappear under an excited squeal from the family room right off the kitchen.

“Mommy!” the three-year-old shouts, and runs over to Hope, hugging her mother’s legs until Hope reaches down to pick her up.

“Hey there, bumblebee,” Hope says softly, rubbing her nose against her daughter’s, a tradition they started so long ago that she doesn’t even remember why, or how. “You’re up early; did sleep in your own bed for Grandma Karen and Grandpa Dan last night?”

The little girl, such a curious mix of herself and O'Hara family features, nods.

“Good girl, I’m proud of you,” Hope says, beaming down at her long-limbed child, the smattering of freckles across her milky skin. Hair a soft honey brown, with waves that Hope knows come straight from Kelley by way of Jerry, but bright blue eyes, those high Solo cheekbones.

“Did you know,” Bry whispers conspiratorially, looking from her grandparents, browsing through the pictures on Hope’s iPad, and her mother. “I got a brother.”

And Hope’s heart swells to hear the little girl sound so excited, so sweetly pleased.

“I did,” she answered, very seriously. “Do you want to see a picture of him?”

Karen came over with the iPad, pulling up a close up of the baby boy, little wisps of red peeking out from under his cap, face relaxed in that newborn milk-drunk way.

“Here he is, Bryony,” Karen says, helping Bry see as Hope takes a quick full of some coffee, “Look how little his fingers are!”

The three-year-old pokes at the picture, and the adults around her laugh gently.

“Do you want to go see mama and your new brother?” Hope asks, lowering her head to breathe in her daughter’s scent, the sweet scent of her. She’d done the same just hours ago with her son, and the day that Bry was born as well.

And her heart, it swells with love. For this little girl, the little boy in his bassinet, Kelley. All the loves of her life.

Bry is nodding eagerly. “And mama,” she says, mouth full of melon.

Hope just laughs. “And mama,” she confirms. “We’re going to eat our breakfast and get washed up,” she tells her daughter, “and then go and get mama some flowers and a soft toy for you to give your brother, okay?”

Karen puts down a plate with small squares of peanut butter toast and some more slices of melon on it, and a sippy cup with some milk. Dan just refills Hope’s empty mug of coffee.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” she says, taking another big gulp of coffee, “do you guys mind helping Bry with–”

But her parents-in-law shake their heads, shoo her off. And, not for the first time, Hope thinks to herself about how lucky she is, her children are, to have them in their lives.

“Go on, Hope, take your time,” Dan says, and she takes another swig of coffee and kisses Bry on the head before running up the stairs to the master bath.

—–

“Okay, so remember, we’ve got to use our inside voices and we have to be careful with the baby,” Hope says as she makes her way down the hospital hallway, Bry settled onto her hip, holding a balloon and a stuffed elephant they’d bought on their way over.

Hope’s got a duffle slung over her other shoulder, a change of clothes for tomorrow, some things Kelley’d wanted, and a bright, beautiful bouquet of flowers. Yellow sunflowers and purple irises and soft white daisies.

But the real gift is in her pocket, a small velvet box.

A ring.

One that matches almost exactly the one that Hope wears on her own hand. That Kelley bought them both when Bry was born. A platinum band, thin and stackable, with a row of emerald chips for the beautiful May baby. The inside engraved with Bry’s name and the details of her birth in Kelley’s hand.

Today, the rings–one for each of them–are the same polished metal, but the stones are different. Bright sapphires for the sunny September day. They’ll take them in to the jeweler later, have the new one engraved with their son’s details, Hope’s angular handwriting. And then bound together.

Unseparable.

Just like they hope their children will be.

—–

Inside the room, Kelley is sitting up in the bed, their son in her arms.

She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman Hope has ever seen.

“Mama,” Bry says in a loud whisper, and tries to wriggle out of Hope’s arms, but she’s well used to wrangling her daughter by now.

“Remember, baby,” Hope reminds her softly, and she settles down.

And then, for the first time, they’re together. Hope and Kelley, their two children.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Kelley says gently as Hope lowers their daughter down to the bed where she cuddles up to her mother. “Want to meet your brother?”

Kelley’s cradled their son into one arm, and lifts him a little higher so that Bry can see the little face, the soft lips, the strands of bright red hair.

“Bry,” Hope whispers, her heart light and whole and free, “meet Charlie.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Time in a Bottle," Jim Croce


End file.
